The Mystery of the Third Lucretia (4 page)

Then Camellia picked up the last box. “Gillian, I want you to know, I got the idea for this gorgeous thing from that last “London Looks” you did in The Scene. In the January magazine? 'Member?” Then with a lot of drama she pulled off the cover of the box and whipped out two bright-colored saris.

I am not kidding. Saris.

One was turquoise, and one was lemon yellow. Even my mom, who had been oohing and aahing in encouragement throughout the fashion show so far, was speechless.

I should explain that part of Mom's job, when she goes to a city abroad, is to work with a photographer to take pictures of actual people she sees on the street who she thinks look stylish. Then they're published in what's called the “Looks” section.

Sure enough, “London Looks” had included a picture of two beautiful Indian or Pakistani girls wearing saris, only instead of draping them over their shoulders, they'd wrapped them around their waists.

“I bought one for each of you kids,” Camellia said, holding both saris out. To go with them she had found tight-fitting long-sleeved T-shirts that matched the two colors perfectly. “And I got a kohl pencil just like the ladies from India use to put those lines 'round their eyes.”

This time Lucas and I did look at each other, and I swear I almost lost it. I knew we were both thinking how we'd look if we went walking around London wearing saris and black eyeliner.

And to carry all this stuff? One of the hugest suitcases I had ever seen. Black leather. With wheels.

When she was finished, Camellia said, “Now Punkin, honey, I know how much you hate tryin' things on, but do somethin' nice for your mama and try on this little dress.” She picked up a really cool V-necked green polka-dot dress. “I want to see how that green looks on you.”

Lucas shot a glance at my mother, who gave her a very stern look back, and she got up off the floor where she was sitting. (We all were, since there were clothes on every piece of furniture.) Camellia handed her the dress and a bra (Lucas hates wearing a bra). Then, after hesitating a minute, Camellia followed Lucas into my bedroom carrying a pair of pantyhose, a pair of killer green satin low-heeled shoes, a crystal heart necklace, and the cosmetic case.

Mom and I just looked at each other.

Now, it's important to know that Mom likes to travel light. Ex-treeemly light. No matter how long she's going to be gone, she never takes more than her big purse, the bag with her computer and work papers, and one wheelie suitcase.

We'd already bought a suitcase just like hers for me, and we'd talked about what I was going to take, which was mostly jeans and T-shirt kind of stuff, with a nice outfit for going to a play or a good restaurant.

Now this.

I finally said, “There's enough stuff here for seven trips.”

“Honey,” Mom said, “there's enough stuff here to outfit the entire audience of teenage girls at your average rock concert.”

“What are we going to do?” I said. “Lucas can't take all this stuff along.”

“Of course she can't,” Mom said. “Don't worry. We'll just leave most of it here. How will Camellia ever know?” She winked at me.

It was a good ten minutes before Lucas and her mom came out of the bedroom, and when they did I almost couldn't believe what I was seeing. There was Lucas, only she didn't look like Lucas at all.

You should have seen her. Was she ever pretty! Her skin seemed to glow and her hair gleamed when she was wearing that dress! Her mom had fluffed her curls out. She was wearing some light-colored lipstick, a little blush, and some mascara. She hardly ever wears any makeup at all, so this was really a change. It hadn't been long since she'd gotten her braces off, so her teeth were all white and straight, and with the eye makeup and no glasses, her eyes looked really big.

“Wow!” I said.

“You look beautiful, Lucas,” Mom said.

Knowing Lucas, I thought she'd be embarrassed to be dressed up like that and have everybody looking at her, but she actually looked kind of excited and happy.

“Doesn't she look gorgeous?” Camellia said, and her eyes positively sparkled when she looked at her daughter. “That color is so good with your skin and your strawberry blond hair, Punkin.” I guess strawberry blond is another way of saying reddish blond.

Then she turned to us. “I wish her daddy could see her. He'd be so proud.”

I personally thought Lucas's dad should be proud of her for a lot of other things besides the way she looked. But I had to admit, even a male chauvinist pig like Allen the Meep would be proud of a daughter who looked as pretty as Lucas did.

“Now Kari, honey,” Camellia said, “if there's somethin' here that you like specially, you just go ahead and wear it. I'm sure Punkin won't mind. And Gillian, if there's somethin' here that's just not raht”—she meant right—“we'll take it back. I left all the tags on.

“And Lucas, honey, I don't want any argument.” She used the name Lucas, so we all knew she was serious. “I want to see pictures of you
in
London,
in
these clothes. We can't have you runnin' around a cosmopolitan city lookin'
vulguh
.”

So much for leaving most of the clothes behind.

“Thanks for coming and bringing Lucas's things, Camellia,” my mom said. “They're all really lovely. And Lucas does look just—incredibly pretty.”

Lucas blushed.

“Mah pleashuh, shugah,” Camellia said. “Bah-bah.”

 

When she'd gone, Lucas said, “I've got to put in my contacts.” She almost ran to her overnight case in the bedroom. When her contacts were in, she went to the full-length mirror in my mom's room. All three of us stood around looking at her reflection.

“You are a lovely young woman, Lucas,” Mom said.

“Whah, fiddle-dee-dee, y'all are gonna turn a girl's head,” Lucas answered, imitating her mother, but now her eyes were sparkling just like Camellia's had, and her cheeks would have been pink even without the blusher.

At last we went back into the living room and just stared at the stuff. We were all quiet for a minute. Then Lucas said, “What the meep are we going to do?”

Well, we decided to take back everything Lucas hated and the things Mom said were impractical for travel. We saved the clothes that Mom said weren't warm enough for London in April. We'd take them on a summer trip.

Lucas and I are about the same size, so she said, how about if she and I both picked the clothes we were going to wear from the things we had left? That way more clothes could go over with us without taking up any extra space. So we both took things like a jacket, jeans, khakis, tops, sweaters, and comfortable shoes.

I took a black skirt and a crinkly white blouse that had long sleeves and French cuffs, and some shiny black shoes with straps—Camellia had called them “mary janes.” I loved the whole outfit, and it looked good with my black hair. Lucas, of course, took the dress she was wearing, which looked spectacular on her, along with the matching shoes and the necklace.

Mom said we could fold up the saris flat. She said that one day when we were in London, the two of us could get dressed up in them and paint the lines around our eyes, take a picture, and get out of our costumes.

Well, there were only a few clothes left: a black blazer, the leather outfit, two sweaters, and a pair of soft leather walking shoes.

“They're all wonderful clothes,” Mom said, and sighed, “but I think they look a little too old for you. We'd better take them back, too.”

I was bursting with an idea. It really wasn't right that I should say it, because they were Lucas's clothes, not mine. But I couldn't help myself.

“Lucas,” I said, “how about if you'd let Mom take them? We could maybe get them in bigger sizes, and they'd all look good on her. And that could be
her
wardrobe. We can take pictures of you in them sitting down, and your mom will never know.”

Well, that's what we did. I think it was the coolest travel wardrobe Mom ever had. Maybe the coolest wardrobe she ever had, period.

We decided we'd take the big suitcase back and exchange it for a little one like Mom and I had, plus a small shoulder-type bag for each of us. It was more than Mom was used to taking, but we got everything in.

 

This all seemed like a disaster at the time. We never guessed that the wardrobe Camellia had bought for us would be used to solve our mystery, and that before our two weeks in London were over, we'd wish we'd brought along not only everything we had, but all the things we'd left behind.

Except for that first Gallery Guy part, our adventure began on our fourth day in London.

We were staying with our friend Robert, whom we met when he came to America to visit Uncle Geoff. He used to be an actor, but now he owns a restaurant.

We love Robert and his friend Celia, who says she's really an actress cleverly disguised as an office worker. Celia has blond hair and she's very stylish and good-looking. Robert is a big, friendly guy who lives in a converted carriage house in a
very
unfashionable part of London called Hackney. Even if you've been to London already, you've never been to Hackney, trust me. Tourists never go there. It's a place where regular people in London live.

When other people go to London, they mostly just see the famous tourist places. We do that, too. But when we stay at Robert's house we also get to see what it's like to live in London. We drink tea and eat fresh scones from the corner bakery, and eat at a little fish-and-chips place where you go up to a counter and order your fish and they give you these incredibly good pieces of fried fish piled with a bunch of french fries in a waxed paper cone. We watch sitcoms on TV that nobody in America has ever seen, and shop at grocery stores with people in Caribbean head-dresses and Indian saris and African robes, and a lot of Muslim women with their heads covered. And when we're going back and forth to Robert's place, we get to take long rides on the subway, which they call the tube or the Underground, and on double-decker buses.

My mom says that when you go to a place just to see what all the other tourists see, you're a tourist. But when you go to a place and see how people live and do things in ways that are different from what we do at home, you're a traveler. I like being a traveler better than being a tourist.

Mom had come to London mostly to do a story on the British Museum, and Lucas and I went there with her on Friday, our first day there. Mom was meeting with people, and she let Lucas and me just explore the museum on our own.

The second day, Mom went back to the museum, and Lucas and I stayed in Hackney watching the BBC and exploring the neighborhood. We also got a chance to start writing in the journals Mom had given us to write about our trips.

On Sunday, Mom, Lucas, Celia, and I went and saw the Changing of the Guard with those guys with the big furry hats outside the palace where the queen lives, and we went to a famous department store called Harrods. Then we went to Madame Tussaud's Wax Museum, where they have incredibly real-looking wax statues of almost every famous person you can imagine, like Princess Di and Elvis and Kate Moss and Johnny Depp.

About the only problem we had up until then was remembering to look the right way when we crossed the street. In England they drive on the left side of the road instead of the right. That feels confusing when you're inside a bus or a taxi. It's also really bad for pedestrians from countries like America where they drive on the right. Like, when I'm home in Saint Paul and go to cross the street, I just automatically look to my left to see what cars might be coming. But in London, if you look left and don't see any cars, you'll probably get run down by the bus coming at you from the right—driving on the left side of the road. It's a miracle more tourists don't get hit by cars.

In fact, one time Lucas almost did. But that comes later.

Sunday is also the day Robert's restaurant is closed. Even though he has to cook a lot in his restaurant he still loves doing it, so he stayed home and cooked something special for dinner.

It was delicious. I think we were eating salmon with raspberry sauce when we started talking about what Lucas and I were going to do the next day.

“Robert and Celia have things to do tomorrow,” Mom said, “and I have to meet with a photographer at nine. I know that's a little early for you two. Do you mind spending another day just hanging around here?”

“Um, Mom,” I began, and looked at Lucas for support, “Lucas and I would like to go into London by ourselves.”

Mom was so surprised that she just held her forkful of food in the air for a minute. Then she said, “Forget about it,” as if the discussion was over, and started eating again.

“Why?”

“Because you're too young to be wandering around London by yourselves,” she said after she'd swallowed.

“No we're not,” I said. “We could get along fine.”

“Look how well we did on our own in the British Museum,” Lucas chimed in. “We never got in trouble, and we always met you exactly when we were supposed to.”

Mom, suddenly outnumbered two to one, turned to Robert and Celia. “Tell them they're not old enough, you two,” she said, and confidently took another bite of her salmon.

But Robert's answer gave her another surprise. “Course they're old enough, Gillian old girl,” he said. “They're not kiddies. They're proper young ladies, they are. What d'you think, Cele?”